Disclaimer: I don't own the Gifted!

A/N: Welcome to a Gifted zombie survival AU! Ages at the beginning of the story, just for reference: John (21), Clarice (20), Marcos (20), Lorna (19), James (11), and Ali (11).

Linger

Chapter 1

That damn gash on her head was still sluggishly bleeding. Clarice could feel the warm, steady trickle starting to drip out from under the rag she had used to bind the wound. Reaching up, she gingerly tried to tug the rag down farther to sit fully on the cut, hissing at her own efforts. It stung, and behind the sting was a steady ache, like tiny fists wearing brass knuckles beating against the inside of her skull. It wasn't a pleasant experience.

She leaned back toward the bookshelves of the workroom, settling against the soft pillows and stuffed animals she had dragged there from the children's section. The musty smell of old pages was almost comforting, or it would have been if there wasn't a hint of mold.

The library was a decent, nearly secure location, but she hadn't been able to lock the broken front doors. A simple barricade had been easy enough to construct, just something to keep the normal zombies at bay, but if any of stronger types came by or if living survivors decided to visit for some light reading and looting, she was shit out of luck.

Still, this was way better than limping through town, vulnerable to any zombie that might have been lumbering around looking for a meal. Especially the fast ones. Regular zombies were bad enough, but those quick ones were hellish and impossible to get away from if you were limping even a little bit. With her scraped up side, twisted ankle, and head wound, she wasn't going anywhere fast.

Clarice hoped nothing was broken. It was a miracle she had walked away from the crash at all, and even more of one that she had made it all the way to the library without running across anything worse than the regular kind of zombie, what she referred to as ramblers. Her gun still had three bullets in it, if she had counted right, and there was her knife and the fire axe laying in the ground near her.

Maybe she wouldn't die immediately. Maybe she would hang on a couple days before something broke in to finish her off.

You never knew.

She should've paid more attention while she was driving her dirt bike. That stray tire in the road had come out of nowhere, it seemed, and she had been thrown from the bike. Luckily she had been slowing down. It could've been so much worse. Her jeans and leather jacket had taken a beating...new clothes were necessary now too.

Only a few months ago, she would've gone straight to the hospital after a crash like that. There would've been pain meds and an IV and X-rays, but she was lucky to have found some ibuprofen in one of the drawers in the workroom. Back then, she wouldn't be thinking about where to find new clothes because she could easily go to a store without worrying about what was lurking behind the doors. It wasn't like shoppers of the undead variety had been an issue.

It seemed like a century ago instead of just months.

Clarice reached for the water bottle at her side and then let her hand drop away. She had to conserve water. Before she had made a nest in the back room, she had looked in the staff lounge but the only water had been in a cooler and it had gone bad. Tomorrow she would try to get up and find a pharmacy...that way she could get water and meds. Something to patch herself up with. The library had been the safest location that she had stumbled across right after the crash. She should've gotten eaten by all rights, but somehow she had managed to wake up from getting knocked unconscious before a zombie found her.

She fiddled with the lid of the water bottle, wanting at least a sip. She refrained. Tomorrow she would find a whole pallet of water bottles. Sure. And then she would find a feather bed and a sexy butler and an entire stash of donuts.

Closing her eyes, she rested, one hand on the revolver in her lap. A nap would've been great… A few weeks ago, she had been with a group outside of Atlanta. Then they had turned nasty and started making rules she didn't like too much, so she had left. Being on her own wasn't terrible, but having someone to keep watch while she slept would've been nice right about then.

Her eyelids felt heavy and her head bobbed down toward her chest, exhaustion catching up to her. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad to sleep for just a few minutes. She needed the rest, and there hadn't seemed to be many zombies in town anymore.

Most likely they had been attracted somewhere people still lived. This place was a ghost town, and there were rumors of safe zones not too far from where she was. She had been trying to decide if she wanted to head for one, just for somewhere that had running water and a somewhat steady food supply.

She drifted off to thoughts of what she would eat if the world hadn't gone to hell. Apple fritters, chocolate chip cookies, key lime pie, donuts… Sweets took up most of her list. Eventually she fell asleep, her head dropping back against the shelves.

Rustling woke Clarice up, and she instinctively lifted her gun, aiming it toward the door.

She wasn't alone.

The shadowy figure in the doorway lurched backward, and she took a quick shot, blowing part of the frame off, bits of wood flying everywhere. A high-pitched shriek ripped through the air, followed by loud whispers and more scuffling.

"Don't scream!"

"Are you bleeding? You're bleeding!"

"Shh, it's not that bad. John's gonna kill us. Shit."

The voices sounded so young they had to be kids. One girl, one boy. Clarice mentally cursed at herself just as much as she cursed at them as her heart pounded against her ribcage. She couldn't believe she had taken a shot at a kid. They were probably a part of a pack of half-feral kids. Those were starting to pop up in places where the kids had somehow survived while all the adults were dead. But most of the nation's kids were dead. Children were easier prey than adults.

"I thought she was dead," the girl's voice said. They couldn't have been more than a foot or two away from the doorway.

"She looked freaking dead," said the boy. That was the one she had taken a shot at, judging by the conversation.

"I can hear you," Clarice mumbled, "And I'm obviously not dead."

Both of the kids went silent. There was a bit of rustling, like shoes moving over carpet.

Finally the boy spoke. "Are you going to shoot at us again?"

Clarice snorted. "Are you going to go all mini-cannibals on me?"

"We're not zombies," was the sharp reply from the boy, "But you just tried to kill us."

"No, I didn't. You woke me up, and you were all eerie in the door," she said. Shifting, she muffled a groan as her leg protested the movement. "Can't blame me for thinking you were zombies."

"So you didn't mean to shoot at us?" the girl asked.

"Well…if I knew you were alive, I wouldn't have. Are you hurt bad?"

"Yeah, I'm bleeding out. Probably be dead in a few minutes, and it's all your fault," the boy grumbled, "Be guilty."

"He is not," the girl said, "His arm just got scraped."

"It's called a graze," the boy growled, "See, I got grazed by a bullet."

Clarice made a face. She really wouldn't have taken a shot at them if she had been fully awake.

For a few moments, they were all quiet. Clarice rested the back of her head against the bookshelves. What the hell were two kids doing out here? They didn't seem to be the wild kind of kid, and it seemed like it was only the two of them. "Are you guys alone?"

"What about you?" the boy demanded. "Or did you get bit and left behind?"

Well, wasn't he just a bundle of joy. Before she could answer that, there was some kind of commotion at the front of the library, like someone was trying to quietly break down her hasty barricade. She tensed, her hand tightening around the grip of her gun again. Just because the kids didn't seem like they wanted to hurt her didn't mean whoever they were with would feel the same way.

"You think they're in here?" a man's voice asked, distant.

"Idiots…" A woman hissed. "How hard was it to stay in the truck for fifteen minutes?"

"The gunshot came from this direction," another man said, softer than the other two but somehow more intense. "James?"

"We're back here," the boy replied, "Some crazy lady shot me."

Clarice winced as she shifted again, getting ready for a fight. She had not meant to shoot at them. Or she wouldn't have if she had known they weren't the living dead.

"What?" the last voice demanded, getting louder. There was more noise, probably her barricade being hastily disassembled, which was frustrating. It had taken her a long time to set that up… "How bad? Where'd she go?"

"John, no, don't go in front of that door," the girl said, "She might shoot you, too."

"Only if you try something funny," Clarice grumbled. Her vision swam as she grabbed the bookshelf and forced herself to her feet, watching the door. She didn't like the idea of more people showing up, especially guys. Not that she couldn't handle them, but she didn't have that many bullets left if they tried to attack her. It was so hard to know whether you should trust someone or not, she usually went for not trusting anyone at all. It was easier that way.

"Stay there," the second guy said, apparently speaking to the two kids. There was silence and then quiet whispering that she couldn't make out except that everyone sounded angry and concerned or defensive. Her chest tightened. Were they going to attack her? She leveled her gun at the doorway again, determined that she wasn't going to die there. Her ankle was protesting the strain, so she tried to stay off it, resting most of her weight on the bookshelves. Every part of her ached.

"Hey," she called, "I didn't mean to shoot him. But don't come back here."

"We're not going to, psycho," the woman's voice snapped, "Do you normally just take random shots at kids?"

Clarice rolled her eyes. "Everyone needs a hobby," she growled and then sighed. "No, they startled me."

"She's hurt," the girl said, "She might be bit."

"Are you?" It was the second guy again, the one with the sort of deeper voice. It sounded like he was right by the doorway, near where they kids were hiding. He had probably snuck around using the dark shadows in the library. It was dusk, and everything was haze and shadow out there.

"If I was, I'd be trying to eat you already instead of going through all this small talk," Clarice said, "Look, I'm sorry about the kid but just...get out, this is my creepy abandoned library. Get your own."

"Sounds like too much of a smartass to be bitten," the woman said.

While it wasn't instantaneous, people quickly became incoherent and then completely bonkers soon after being bitten. The longest Clarice had seen someone hold out was fifteen minutes. Then he had started screaming uncontrollably until his jaw had come unhinged and flopped around. It wasn't pretty.

There was more whispering and a very distinct 'no' while Clarice tried to find a better position against the bookshelves. If they tried to come rob her, she would fire a warning shot and hope they left. Not that there was much for them to steal, unless they just loved fancy green water bottles and blood-stained jackets.

Could they leave already? It was taking them forever to head out. They had their kids so it was time to go.

"Hey." It was the deeper voice, and he was definitely standing right beside the door. Clarice trained her gun in that general direction. "Do you need some help? The kids say you're not doing well."

"Really?" Clarice let out a humorless laugh. "Don't play that game. If you come through that door, I'll shoot."

"Let's just leave, John," the woman said, "She doesn't want our help, and it's getting dark."

"And she tried to kill me," the boy added. James, right? Wait, who cared…she didn't need to know their names, she just needed them to leave ASAP.

"For the love of—I didn't mean to shoot you, kid!" Clarice swayed and reached back to cling to shelves behind her. The gun felt so much heavier than it normally did, and it was worse when she tried to hold it with one hand. Everything ached, and now that she was standing again, she felt terribly dizzy.

"She might die if we leave her here…" It was the girl's voice, soft and worried. "Would that make us murderers?"

"No, it makes us smart, because when she dies she'll go all zombie and try eat us, remember?" the woman's voice said sharply. "Do you want her to come gnaw on your skull? 'cause I don't."

"Lorna."

"Just because you don't like it doesn't mean it's not true."

That didn't bother her. She ignored the ice that burrowed through her veins, a sudden fear that came out of nowhere. Clarice took a deep breath. She wasn't going to die here.

"Do you at least have some water and medical supplies?" It was that same guy, John. He seemed to be hovering near the doorway, like she was suddenly going to change her mind and invite him in for a nice chat. He must not have realized that this was the apocalypse and helping a stranger could get you in more trouble than you originally thought.

"What part of get out did you not understand?" Clarice mumbled. She shook her head and then regretted it. "There is 'get' and then 'out'. Put them together and leave."

"Can I bring you an extra water bottle?"

Clarice blinked. "Oh, my god." What in the world. She stared at the doorway, wondering exactly what they planned to do with her after they lured her in with this act of kindness. They had kids, which made her think they weren't completely terrible, but then again, the kids might've been little monsters. The boy seemed like one.

"You can't just give all our supplies away!" the woman said, "John, seriously. She said for us to go, so we should maybe respect her wishes and get the hell out of here."

"What she said," Clarice chimed in. It was getting hard to stay standing, so she hoped they made up their minds soon. Her headache was growing into a migraine, and her scraped up side felt like the cold autumn air was actually setting it on fire.

"It's one water bottle," John retorted, "That's hardly all of our supplies."

"Yeah, but we can't spare you if she shoots you dead," the other guy said.

"Throw it at her if you have to, but don't go in there," the boy, James, said, "Okay?"

The voices dropped into fierce whispers again, and she couldn't hear most of it. It seemed to be a furious discussion about morals and how they shouldn't act like animals or how they had to look out for each over versus we need to survive and we can't save everybody and…ugh, they talked a lot.

Her mind drifted, her vision going hazy. How long ago had it been since she had wiped out on the road? She needed to get her bike back. Transportation was stupidly important. She hadn't totaled it, had she? God, her head felt heavy.

She felt distant from the room, her hands going numb, everything pitching to the side. Her fingers scrambled to put down her gun, and her hand slammed into a nearby desk, taking off some skin. The desk came up to meet her and she leaned to the side, instead crashing into a chair and taking it to the floor like a drunk football player making a bad tackle. She heard the voices get louder as her vision tunneled, and she saw a pair of muddy combat boots step into her line of sight before she fell fully into the darkness.